You said
“One day, when I’m old and married and have kids,
One day, when I have a home and a garden and a mortgage,
One day, when I’ve fallen into a comfortable routine
Of coffee in the morning, and work, and reading bedtime stories,
And packing lunches, and sneaking cigarettes on the front porch, (wraparound, of course, like we said we'd have, one day)
One day, when our lives are worlds, millenniums, dimensions apart,
When I can’t remember how you taste
Or the way you take your tea,
When everything becomes mundane and certain,
I’ll listen to our song.
I’ll watch your favorite movie.
I’ll remember the way we used to be.”

a.m.